The Fallen Princess

Three

The ride to the orphanage unfolded without incident—sun warm on Zaria’s back, cedar mixing with dust beneath the horses’ hooves, the world briefly pretending it had never learned cruelty.

By the time the weathered stone building came into view, the little princesses were already squirming with anticipation, leaning over saddle horns to glimpse the familiar yard.

Zakai dismounted first. He swung down with practiced ease, boots thudding against packed earth, then reached up for Zaria without a pause—hands steady at her waist, guiding her down the way he always did. Carefully. Respectfully. Fierce protectiveness disguised as routine.

Next he turned to the girls. One by one, he lifted each child from the saddles, small arms looping around his neck, little legs dangling, giggles spilling out as though his arms were the safest place in the world. And for them... they were.

“Thank you, Aldric.” Zaria accepted the youngest—soft-eyed, hair the shade of late summer wheat—and set her gently on the ground, smoothing her cloak so it wouldn’t snag on saddle straps. “For always arranging transport for the girls.”

Aldric’s grin flashed bright and effortless. Zaria reached into her belt and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. “I don’t have much.” She offered Aldric a silver coin. “But at least let me buy you and your men a drink.”

Aldric nudged her hand aside, mischief lighting his eyes. “How about you ride with me next time instead?” “No.” Zakai’s refusal cut across the yard instantly, not even turning as he set the last little princess down.

Aldric barked a laugh. “As predictable as sunrise.” He tipped his head toward Zaria, voice carrying the easy cadence of someone who pretended the world was kind. “It’ll be a few hours. We’re being briefed on the arrival of some of the King’s guests. I’ll return when we’re done.”

“Until then.” Zaria patted the flank of Aldric’s horse before turning to herd the girls toward the door. Zakai tied his borrowed mount beneath a shady tree, leaving enough slack for it to graze as it pleased.

The tiny bell above the orphanage door jingled softly when Zaria pushed it open. The building was older than most in the village, beams sagging under the weight of years, floorboards complaining with every step.

The air smelled faintly of soup, soap, and the earthy scent of children who were always a little dirty no matter how fiercely they were scrubbed.

The main hall sat empty. Zaria guided the girls straight through and into the backyard, where a dozen other children were already running wild beneath the laundry lines.

The little princesses sprinted toward them without hesitation, vanishing instantly into the blur of play. Bright dresses flashing, laughter rising, no guards at their shoulders and no court eyes measuring their worth.

Zaria stood there for a heartbeat too long, letting the sound settle into her chest like something fragile she couldn’t afford, then excused herself and ducked back inside to find the director.

She discovered the woman bent beneath a bunk bed, sweeping piles of dirt and missing socks from under the frame with the grim determination of someone who refused to lose a battle to dust.

“Oh, there you are.” Warmth softened Zaria’s mouth. The woman jerked up at the sound of her voice and cracked her head against the upper bunk with a blunt thunk. “Ow—gods. Princess!”

She abandoned the broom against the wall and hurried forward, cheeks flushed with mortification. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the bell. You usually arrive earlier. I thought perhaps you weren’t coming today.”

“I woke up late.” Zaria rubbed the back of her neck, half apology, half disbelief at herself. “A rarity, I know.” The director let out a breathy chuckle. “Then I’ll call it a mercy. I’d have swept the place twice over before I noticed you’d come in.”

Zaria held out the leather pouch. Inside sat the few silver coins she’d managed to save this month and a small gem she’d taken from a man who wouldn’t accept her refusal as an answer. A man Zakai had dealt with swiftly, quietly, and permanently beyond the castle walls.

At least the bastard hadn’t been entirely useless, she thought with dry contempt. His jewelry would feed children instead of egos.

“Bless you,” the director whispered, fingers trembling as she accepted the pouch. “If not for you… these children would be long forgotten.”

“They’re far from forgotten while you still give them love.” Zaria’s voice gentled, and the director’s tense shoulders eased by a fraction. Together they returned to the yard, sunlight pooling across the trampled grass.

The children ran between laundry lines, chased sticks, pretended to be knights and dragons and adventurers, little lives playing at power because real power had never been kind to them.

“Honestly,” the director murmured, watching the girls disappear into a tangle of laughter, “I’m grateful for every visit. I worry the King might forbid you from coming one day.” “I doubt His Majesty could stop my sister even if he tried.” Zakai’s voice drifted from behind the fence as he swung himself over it. “She’s stubborn.”

The director blushed as Zakai came to stand beside them, and Zaria bit down on a laugh before it escaped. Zakai carried the kind of beauty that unsettled people. Elven symmetry shaped by mortal blood, mesmerizing and dangerous all at once.

Cloaks and lowered heads helped, sometimes. Not with the stares. Not with the murmurs that trailed after them long after lanterns were lit.

Questions followed them everywhere. Some nights, when the palace finally quieted and the corridors stopped whispering, Zaria would catch herself wondering about the land their mother had come from.

Whether her people still lived, whether they would ever accept half-human children, or whether the twins were destined to be refused by two worlds instead of one.

By midday, the knights returned to collect them. While Zakai stepped forward to greet them, Zaria bent to gather the girls—brushing hair out of tiny faces, dusting dirt from their hems, fastening cloak ties with quick, practiced fingers that had learned how to make children look safe even when they weren’t.

“Princess, we must leave at once.” Aldric called from beyond the fence, already mounted. “Of course.” Zaria offered the director a warm wave. “Take care, until next time.”

They rode quickly back to the castle, and the air began to change before the gates even appeared, tension thickening like storm clouds gathering over sand.

Inside the courtyard, knights lined up in hurried formation. Servants whispered and scattered. Banners were being hung for an event neither Zaria nor Zakai had been warned of. Zaria felt it in the way people avoided her eyes, in the way footsteps quickened when she passed, in the way the whole place leaned away from her like it expected lightning.

Aldric slowed in the front garden, exhaustion sitting heavy behind his grin. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped to spend more time with you, but I must return to the knightage.” “Because of the King’s guests?” Zaria kept her voice calm, but her gaze sharpened, reading the strain in his posture.

Zakai gave a dry huff, pushing his horse’s lead into Aldric’s hand, clearly having asked the same question earlier. “He’s not at liberty to explain.” “If he could tell us, he would.” Zaria defended, she reached out and rested her fingertips on Aldric’s arm—brief, steadying, more reassurance than touch. “Be safe my dear friend.”

Aldric nodded. His attention dropped to her hand, then lifted back to her face. Something unreadable flickered there, gone almost immediately, hidden beneath discipline. “Stay close to Zakai.” The warning came gentle, but it carried weight. Then he turned his horse and rode off.

Zaria exhaled slowly and gathered herself. “Alright, girls. Up to my room.” She removed their little cloaks and began guiding them toward the old stone entrance.

“Gather their maids and send them to my quarters?” She glanced at Zakai as they moved. “I will.” His answer came immediate. “After I escort you myself. Something feels off, and I don’t want you alone.”

“Have the maids keep the girls inside for the rest of the night.” The words slipped out quieter, edged with instinct. Zakai nodded once, tight. When they reached Zaria’s chambers, Zakai left to find the maids.

Cecil and Zaria got the girls clean and presentable—hands scrubbed, hair tamed, collars straightened—until they looked like princesses again. Soon Zakai returned and gave Zaria the faintest tilt of his head. Signal received. Orders had been delivered.

Zaria relaxed a fraction. “Off you go.” She pressed a smile into place and ushered the girls toward their maids. “Eat dinner and go to bed early.” Each child kissed her cheek in turn, little footsteps pattering across the stone floor until only the youngest lingered in the doorway, eyes wide with sleepy sincerity.

“I wuv you, sister. I wuv you, brudder.” Something in Zaria melted outright. She crossed the room and scooped the child into a final hug, cheeks pressed together. “We love you too, little angel.” Her gaze flicked to Zakai.

Zakai offered the girl the warmest smile Zaria had seen from him all day. When the children finally left, Zaria shut the door with her heel, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed face-first onto the bed like her bones had decided they were finished holding her up.

“Would you like dinner now, Princess?” Cecil’s voice came soft as a blanket. “I’m too tired to eat.” The words muffled into the pillow.

Zakai dragged the vanity chair to the wall and dropped into it with a long exhale, arms folding across his chest, eyes drifting shut. “Bring her dinner, Cecil. I’ll make sure she eats.”

“You won’t.” Zaria rolled onto her side. One of Zakai’s eyes cracked open. “You won’t what?”

“Make me eat.” Zakai stared at her for a beat, expression blank with the kind of patience that came from years of fighting Zaria’s defiance.

“Remember when you were sixteen?” Zaria groaned. “That was different.” “That was the first time you refused to attend one of the King’s dinners.” His voice stayed flat, but his jaw tightened like the memory cut deeper than he wanted it to.

“He didn’t drag you downstairs. He just stopped sending food. A week. Until you caved.” Zaria’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to use that.” Zakai rose with maddening calm. “We eat when we have food, Zaria.” She let out a long, suffering groan and flopped back onto the bed. “You’re unbearable.”

“I’m effective.” His gaze flicked to Cecil. “Feed her.” Zaria was still glaring when the knock came. “Don’t open it, Cecil,” Zaria muttered. Another knock followed—then another, firmer, impatient. “They’re not leaving.” Zakai angled toward the door. “Want me to answer?”

Zaria let out an exasperated sigh that had no real breath behind it. “Fine.” Zakai opened the door a narrow span, shoulder blocking the view inside like a wall given skin. “State your business.”

A man in the King’s livery cleared his throat, spine stiff with borrowed authority. “Princess Zaria. His Majesty requests your attendance at dinner in the great hall tonight.”

Zaria didn’t move from the bed. She let the silence stretch, long enough for discomfort to creep into the messenger’s posture, long enough to remind him whose room he stood in. “Tell His Majesty I’m indisposed.” Her tone stayed mild. “I won’t be present.”

“The dinner is not optional, Princess.” The messenger tried for firmness and landed on fear instead. “Guests have arrived. Your absence would be noted.” “It’s always noted.” Zaria’s gaze cut toward the door, sharp now. “That has never stopped me.”

The messenger swallowed, then forced the next words out like they’d been handed to him carefully. “This time… His Majesty requested you by name.” The air went a shade colder. Zaria sat up slowly, smoothing her hair back as if she had all the time in the world. “Which guests?”

“That is not mine to disclose.” His chin lifted a fraction. “But your presence is expected.” Zaria’s mouth curved, polite and empty. “Expected by whom? The guests… or my father?” The messenger’s eyes darted to Zakai’s looming frame, then back again. “By His Majesty. He wishes to present you.”

“Present.” Zaria tested the word like it had teeth. “How generous...” “My lady,” he pressed, grasping for confidence, “if you would allow the King to arrange a suitable political marriage, these dinners would no longer be required. A husband would keep you. Your place would be… elsewhere.”

Zaria’s smile didn’t falter. It thinned. “A husband chosen from the sort of men my father invites to his table?” Her tone stayed light, almost conversational. “Men who drink too much, boast too loudly, and look at females as if they’re selecting fruit?”

The messenger flushed. “You exaggerate.” “I survive.” Zaria’s voice dropped quieter, sharper. “And I decline.” He bristled, offended that she still had the audacity to be unmanageable. “You are past marrying age, Princess. Your duty is—”

“My duty,” Zaria cut in, “is not to make myself convenient.” Behind the door, Zakai shifted, leather and fabric whispering, and the messenger’s courage stumbled in his throat. “I will not attend.” Zaria’s tone stayed smooth as silk. “You may deliver that answer.”

The messenger’s jaw tightened, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Very well.” The speed of his agreement felt wrong, eager. “Then His Majesty will request Princess Anya in your stead.” Zaria went perfectly still.

“She is ten.” Zaria hissed quieter now. More dangerous for it. “She is of the King’s household.” The messenger tried to sound official, tried to sound untouchable. “And His Majesty does not enjoy being refused.”

Zaria rose from the bed and crossed the room in one measured stride; no rush, no flinch, just closing distance until the messenger had no choice but to look at her fully. “You will go back downstairs,” she murmured, “and you will repeat my words exactly as I give them.” Her eyes held his—icy, unblinking.

“If my father wants me at his table, I will come.” She let the silence bite, then leaned in just enough for the threat to feel intimate. “But if anyone lays a hand on Anya, if anyone so much as suggests placing her before those guests to punish me, then I will make it known that the only reason you’d reach for a ten-year-old is because you believe the King’s guests would welcome her to their beds.”

The messenger’s face drained of color. Behind Zaria, Zakai took one slow step forward, silent confirmation of everything she didn’t need to voice aloud. “Yes, Princess.” The words cracked out of the messenger like surrender.

“Good.” Zaria’s smile returned, sweet as sugar, sharp as glass. “Now leave. Before my brother mistakes your persistence for insolence.” The man didn’t argue. He backed out so quickly he nearly caught his heel on the threshold.

When the door shut, Zaria exhaled through her nose, anger humming under her skin. “I’ve no choice but to go.” Zakai’s voice dropped, steady and lethal. “I’ll make certain no one touches Anya.”

“Thank you.” The words were more sincere than she intended. Zaria stared at the closed door a beat too long, as if she could see the great hall through it—the lights, the eyes, the pretending.

“And if the men at that table mistake my presence for anything but appearances…” Her gaze lifted, glacial. “Then they lose the hand they reach with.” Zakai didn’t hesitate. “Don’t worry sister, they won’t get close enough to reach.”